I RINK THEREFORE I CARE
Signs of intelligent life /
A concrete layer of zero is the lie between to feel
Safe and warm for another house of construction.
Slipping and sliding, roughly from shop to shack—
Because this is called “meandering” a connection!
What is the balance on skating without blades? Valentine:
Of course, off course; on course, discourse, bird course…
Forgetting my gloves, I breathe heavily, cupping my hands, then
Thaw my face to be reminded of art’s vitamin source.
The philosophical theory of Monday Night Poetry is a can
Of ravioli to boot, it’s the eye of The Garfield,
It’s a mystery to me, cause there are so many greats.
Here we have Stojko and Kerrigan on the same snowy leafs.
There is the role playing Q&A I like a lot as a game…
It’s given down straight on what could be a means to modernism.
This maroon asks about America in Canada and says,
“Is Gretzky like Elvis? Is he real? Does Gretzky exist?”
/ Signs of intelligent life…
A POSITIVE MOTIVATION
The NHL cameras, carry the booty of roaring, cold ice,
And shoots and scores, the game where I am fortune’s bottle…
The ominous crowd makes awesome Jets, survive space,
And the drink for a brush is a well, in some painter’s boxes…
What is good for the country of poetry?
And when did The Slam get that locomotive?
My love for a universe, your ears for a horse—
This world for the heavens, meeting our voice.
If you have me on the line, let me know…
However the ghost-head throws towels with curves,
and Made skeletons in closets wrap muses in words,
Up from the chrysalis where Pharaohs contemplate:
What is my mother doing here at the works?
Can I get you? No. But we ask ourselves together like theorists:
Put the painting before the hunt, and the cave is a beautiful court.
Can we water it down like Elephants? Yes. Make it rain-dance!
Apparently lion tamers are born to their fathers within service…
Is there more than one world, for poetry?
And do lyrics defeat the deeds of corporations?
My patent for a legacy, your use of the computer—
These verses temper your monopoly profile.
If you have me on the line, let me know…
However the vinegar cleanses your soul food
And Makes your day like a warm gun for The Kid’s dice—
Rolling the emotion turns punchers to seals:
Was that my father that went hence so fast?
O Romeo! Look, it’s Juliet! Where!?
In front of the mirror dreaming of you, of course…
I want you to take these things and plant them.
These are symbolic, like your eyes…
These are meaningful like your heart?
I would but right now, it’s time for Juliet.
Two burger joints and which one will hit your spot?
There is no doubt which fries have some dignity, and yet
I’ll segue way my thoughts via air and radio to make believe…
If you have me on the line, let me know.
THE POETRY ADD
We have submitted our lives in the name of poetry shaping the earth with only a spoon. Reported while the elements of style made us endure seasons with the hope of experiencing an out of body multiplication. Kept our world as we saw it revolving around the music we recognize. Google’d our very beautiful minds fearlessly, making eye contact with the sharp edges that pruned our egos. We were then confessing, so could not tender for that was an alibi of all the regret which was honesty at a wrong turn. Created a real vision beyond the image of illusion, actual faith of magic, the words of impossible cubist-futurism between visible and invisible, a public display of the nude made animals blush the resolute moon. Made auto-sympathy restore the pride of your rock so much that it really is a bird on a wire. Let the healing begin and accept the hearts before us in their sport with the ranking of second place paradox that workshops a beautiful cruise. Followed through with tradition in modern times by loving as friends and reasoning out the arguments which we have suffered throughout the digest of readings. Apologized for the plethora of lies even through good intentions as cruel as it might be to let the truth be itself that perfectly lands like an angel, kisses our minds and guides our scribe for method. Acted like a prophet even when times are tough, through composition as artists and spiritually as bards, that mythology which swallowed us in its figure-eight of symbolic generosity, and completes persona. Had the epiphany or rapture of language, mastering oneself with poetic growth, and trying to invoke in others that there are beliefs in the universe, which saves that part for us in response to the human condition when we express a great motivation.
THE WEIGHT OF BLACK FEATHERS
thoughts on Calvin Klein’s experimental shower gel ‘Taking Forever’
Prairie poetry’s bad bird,
Pages of Gothic phases,
Shoe polish for the 8-ball;
Tears of rain as credit grows,
Bed of nails at the library,
To carve one’s name is manifest,
To ruin make-up hitting shamrocks…
And then he
all of a sudden whispers:
It wasn’t the cold wind
Nor the fruit off the trees
That split the candle,
It was the layers of math
Which comprised of notes—
The clouds containing
Where degrees could be traced,
And oranges leaven tap water,
As light guides as a centerpiece,
Its shape briefly cornering an eye/
The lash of physics.
Chris Macalino is from The Garden City Area of Winnipeg and commutes downtown by bus, likes to check out The Millennium Library where he frequents Speaking Crow. There is a really good coffee shop right at the entrance way of The Millennium, and he likes to get a large black coffee with a shot of espresso, they call it a ‘Headbanger’. Macalino thinks it’s nice to have a coffee before and after floor-walking the sky-walks from one location to the next. He dreams-back to the chapbook he wrote The Verona Paradox, and the sites too like The Holosuite Usher as well as CHASERS. Sometimes he gets a little lost in all of the bargains with so many good deals.